Finding the Green within the Grey

Tears

Sometimes I weep in my car, glad for an enclosed space to emote until I’ve cried myself out. Seldom do I think of people catching sight of me: weeping. But when I do think of that, I hope it gives them pause. Why is she crying? Oh, that’s right, everyone has something that makes them want to weep.

Giving myself over to the weeping in my car: it feels sacred. As sacred as the tears my daughters sometimes cry with me. Or as sacred as anytime we witness tears. Witnessing our own need to grieve by giving ourselves over to tears when we have the space for it: sacred.

This life, it pulls it out of you. Passing time, glimpses of the life we already lived that’s never coming back. Loss and hurt and even the deep bliss of shared love right in the moment. Happy tears.

I know many people don’t like tears. Perhaps they weren’t born with the crying gene. Or they were born with it but they learned to stuff it. People debate where people should cry. But the funny thing is that I have cried in some inappropriate places. And perhaps a small part of me feels bad. But the other part of me knows I am human having a human experience and it’s OK that sometimes the tears were so necessary that I didn’t have to wear-with-all to seek out a safe space to cry those tears in.

I cried when I was let go (fired!) from a job I even knew I was going to be fired from at that exact moment. When I said, “Sorry, I told myself I wasn’t going to cry,” the person who was firing me said it was OK to cry. Perhaps she was sorry then: that permission she gave me unleashed a torrent. But the person had known me for a decade; she wasn’t surprised. The person in the room for the legal part of the moment ducked out the door. And the words spoken as I cried made the firing less of a firing, more of a we-both-know-this-isn’t-working-and-that’s-sad-moment.

But that’s specific. I’m just thinking about crying and how crying moves our emotions. How I know sometimes that I need to cry or my daughters need to cry, and I create a container for those tears. The car is a sweet place for me to grieve passing time, say on the way to pick up a 16th birthday cake for my eldest. And when my kids cry in public (they have the gene!), we always talk afterwards about how other people respond to their tears. Any response is interesting, from “I can take your braces off if you’re going to cry at every session” to “Your tears are OK with me; here’s some Kleenex.”

We all seem to know what to do with joy and laughter, but what do we do with tears?

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Nancy Schatz Alton

I used to ride the playground ponies — painted metal creature swings behind my childhood home — and dream of a book with my name on it: Nancy Schatz. Years later, I walked that same playground and young girl asked me my age. Maybe I was 19. Shocked, she asked if I was married. Nope, not yet, I laughed in reply.

Now I’m married and my body’s pretty close to being 50 years old. My first dream came true with one minor adjustment. The name on the cover of those books is “Nancy Schatz Alton.” I think it took writing these two holistic healthcare guides — The Healthy Back Book and The Healthy Knees Book — to believe I really am a writer. But I’ve been a writer before I could pencil the alphabet on the itchy lined paper in Kindergarten. It’s just who I am.

I wear many other definitions. I’m lucky enough to be a mom to a teenager and a tween. I’m a freelance writer, editor and writing teacher and coach, too. I’m a baker and a short-order cook, an off-key singer and car dancer. I’m a former long distance runner, an avid reader and a lover of color. I’m also a spy, because writers are spies, right?

This blog was born a few years ago when I finally got tired of denying myself the privilege of having a blog. I love sharing my words, and if these thoughts can help someone else, even better. As this blog has evolved, some of what I have written is part of a memoir manuscript entitled “But Still and Yet: Navigating the Learning Differences World with My Daughter.” That’s the tale of being and becoming a mother. No, it’s not the story of my first child’s birth and how I stepped into this new role, although there are many fine books about this very topic. This memoir is about learning to embrace the idea that life doesn’t always get to be easy for our offspring. If you aren’t a parent, the journey I take is the same journey all humans take during this lifetime. This memoir answers this question: how do we crack ourselves open to become our best possible selves?

Boom. Enjoy my blog. Say hello via a comment if you have can. And Welcome to Within The Words, Finding the Green within the Grey,.

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